


Gallery Musings

by mercutibro



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Help, M/M, and i was all 'omg art gallery date', and then i wrote this n suffered, art gallery times, inspired by that acebooshnetwork post abt dates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 20:57:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6923092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercutibro/pseuds/mercutibro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tall man clad in a variety of brown clothing and a smaller man dressed in bright colours walked through the room, the smaller man dragging the taller man towards paintings with a hushed call of “Oh, Howard! Look at that!” or “Howard! This one’s genius!”.<br/>- <br/>Howard and Vince go for a mooch around their local art gallery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gallery Musings

The art gallery was serene, various footsteps echoing quietly on the wooden floor, the odd cough resonating throughout the room in a way that wasn’t annoying or disturbing, it just seemed to add to the percussive melody of quietness.

Paintings hung upon the pristine white wall, each with a small description written on a grey tile beside it. People milled around the various rooms; some paintings were surrounded by a cluster of people, each craving to stare at its every pencil line and brushstroke, however others remained undisturbed. 

A tall man clad in a variety of brown clothing and a smaller man dressed in bright colours walked through the room, the smaller man dragging the taller man towards paintings with a hushed call of “Oh, Howard! Look at that!” or “Howard! This one’s genius!”.

Howard allowed himself to be pulled along like a puppy on a lead with an overeager owner, sighing fondly. He stared pensively at the painting he had been pulled over to, the black-haired man stood next to him, engrossed in the artistic wonderland in front of him.   
“This one’s alright, Vince,” Howard said, looking to the other man. “But I prefer that one.” he gestured towards a picture opposite the one they were situated at.

Vince tutted. “‘Course you would. That one’s all dark and boring.” he said.   
The piece that had taken Howard’s fancy wasn’t crowded. It’s orange and brown colours meant it went unnoticed and undisturbed by the majority of visitors, like an abstract camouflage. It was, in some ways, much like Howard himself; a sort of mixture of muted beiges and burnt oranges combining to form a unique piece of art which, despite its brilliance and potential, was pitifully ignored. It was a complete contrast to the rest of the pieces in the gallery.

Despite Vince’s previous comment, the electro boy walked over to the picture, Howard alongside him, their hands laced together (it had taken Vince a little while to infiltrate Howard’s ‘Don’t Touch Me’ rule). They stopped in front of the painting, Vince pigeon-toed and wide-eyed, Howard stood straight and gazing with intent.

Vince hummed to himself. “S’like an album cover to one of your jazz vinyls.” he observed, causing Howard to chuckle a little. He pointed to the picture opposite the one they were stood in front of. “Then that one is like the cover to one of your daft electro tracks.”

Vince’s intrigued gaze drifted to where Howard was gesturing. He was greeted by the sight of a picture that was contrary to Howard’s piece.  
It was ablaze with neon colours, clashing together to make the loud statement of “I’m here! Look at me!”. There were pinks and greens bleeding together, leaving streaks that stood out amongst the white backdrop of the canvas. There were splashes of yellow dotted about the piece, like strange stars against a fluorescent sky and smudges of orange about the bottom of the canvas, much like flames slowly devouring the art.   
A thrilled grin placed itself on the young man’s face as he observed the painting. To some it was an eyesore, but to him it was a masterpiece! He felt a rush of exhilaration every time a previously hidden splodge of colour came to light.   
Howard stood behind Vince, considering the picture at hand. He couldn’t help but find himself comparing the two paintings to his companion and himself, but the similarities were too stark to be ignored. One had an air of sophistication, the other was blunt and straightforward; one was muted, the other loud; one was vintage, the other screamed modern; one seemed apologetic, the other was anything but.   
Much like Howard and Vince themselves.   
Vince coughed and Howard found himself being thrown from the bubble of thought he’d been so unknowingly engrossed in. “Y’alright, Howard?” the shorter man asked, amused. The Jazz Maverick laughed awkwardly, nodding and quickly trying to recover grace.  
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Let’s, er - let’s go to the cafe, yeah? I’ll buy you a hot chocolate.”   
Vince grinned, grabbing Howard’s hand. “Genius!” he praised as he led Howard out of the room, but not before Howard threw a final glance towards the two paintings - their paintings as he would henceforth recognise them as, unbeknownst to the younger man. And Howard would try and keep it that way for as long as possible.

**Author's Note:**

> thi s. is written because i have no self-restraint.


End file.
